


Anchor Me

by sethceith



Category: Captain America, Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Recovery, Stucky - Freeform, Torture Mentions, cute shit, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:40:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6973819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sethceith/pseuds/sethceith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky refused to go back under, but he begins to regret it. Steve's there to help, just like always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor Me

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first fic since the shitty things I used to write in 2012, so it could definitely be better, but thanks for reading!

The first time Bucky dyed his hair, it was necessity, not fear.

He knew there were several groups looking for him, and he needed to look different. But bright blond would make him stand out, and there weren't many other colors, so he settled for making it darker. That night was spent in such a panic, he hardly noticed the water in his face, hardly noticed that he wasn't panicking solely because of the memories it could bring. He spent the next few weeks without incident, bathing instead, hair always washed carefully so his face stayed dry.

The second time, the grim reality of the aftershocks of his torture really hit him. He's not dying it out of a deadly need, but instead, the security he felt at not looking like his old self. He let the inky liquid absorb into his hair as he went through his materials for his next move, never staying in the same place too long, and was calm as he could be when he started the shower. But his placid nature was quickly changed as he began to get short of breath; as soon as the water poured down on his face enough to make him have to spit it out, to close his eyes, the flashbacks were vivid. Tied down on a table, cloth on his face, water dripped-- When he was finally out of the shower, he spent the rest of the day shaking.

And so it came to be that he ruined the bathtub every three months when he redid his hair. Focusing on his own safety and hiding had the small price of having to scrub viciously at the stained white porcelain of the tub, but he could keep his face dry, and the panic attacks began to get more and more infrequent. Thank  _God._ He was eventually able to dye his hair in peace, and the scrubbing only helped him get out any lingering fear of his memories. 

After he was saved, after T'challa had offered his home as a safe haven, Bucky had no reason nor means to continue the process. The roots began to turn brown and grow out, and he looked impossibly more disheveled as a result. He was only shown a shower, no bathtub, so he went for long stretches of time without cleansing himself. He often kept to himself, much to Steve's dismay, so of course that led to a meeting with his friend that couldn't be avoided. 

He was sitting on his bed, looking at nothing, when Steve knocked before entering. He knew there was no need to ask; Bucky was prone to staying silent, communicating in nods and motions, and if he wanted to be alone he would say it. He doesn't look up from the floor when Steve walks in, though suddenly, his eyes are focused in a box in Steve's hand. Well, a box in front of his face. 

"You're not taking care of yourself. Wanda suggested this," He explained in reply to the silent question on Bucky's face. Steve's brow was knit together in that too-familiar expression of worry, and Bucky heaved a soft sigh as he grabbed the box, listening as Steve continued. "She figured you were still in hiding in a way, beyond being in hiding from Tony. And you hid by keeping your hair dark." 

The thanks was never spoken, but they both knew it was there, no need for argument. And when Bucky never said anything in reply, Steve felt no need to linger, so he took his leave. 

That night, Bucky sought out T'challa, nto comfortable talking to anyone else there. He asked about a bathtub, and thankfully, the king pointed him in the right direction. He would later learn through Steve that T'challa was rather relieved to see Bucky out of the room; he may still not be the man's friend, but he didn't enjoy seeing the moping. 

He locked himself in the bathroom for hours as he used the enclosed glove to run the dye through his hair. The acrid scent of the chemicals almost burned his nose, but he ignored it, instead filling the bath. It wasn't porcelain, but glass, the entire side panel so clear there may as well have been nothing there. He set himself to exploring the room after peeling the gloves off, taking it all in. Immaculate floors, walls, mirrors-- It was flawless, but so plain in a way he wasn't accustomed to. Bucky's idea of plain was a mattress, a sleeping bag, and the bare minimum food. Plain and simple was prepared to leave-- This was plain and intricate. 

He almost missed when the tub filled, rushing to shut it off before he was climbing in carefully as he could. Easing himself to be under halfway wasn't likely, the tub too full, so he drained half of it before lying back. Now he could use his only hand to actually clean himself of the dye, head resting on the floor as he ran his fingers through the locks to release the grip of the liquid. He spent a good ten minutes trying to rid the slimy feeling from his hair, and when he finally did, he relaxed. Settled against the back of the tub, he hardly realized how hot it was; he'd tried so hard to keep his face dry, but now, it was dripping with sweat. Dye still clung to his bangs and his forehead, he realized, but he tried to ignore it when there was a knock on the door. 

"Buck? T'challa said you were here. Do you need help?" Steve's voice was muffled through the door, but still so undeniably, honestly Steve. It was a moment before Bucky understood-- It was  _hard_ to dye hair with only one hand. Taking a look around to make sure he was modest enough (the water dark enough to cover him), he sighed softly. 

"Yeah," He admitted, listening to the little click as the doorknob turned. He sat up a little more, figuring it would be easier for them, though he wasn't sure  _how_ once he'd gotten into the position. He had to rinse his  _head._ He was about to lie back again when he heard Steve exclaim, "God, Bucky," under his breath, and he didn't have to wait long to understand. 

"It's boiling in here, Buck," he said, obviously concerned, and Bucky began to realize how hot it actually was in the room. The water was steaming hot, and when he pulled his arm out of the water, the skin let off steam of it's own. Maybe it was a little too hot. 

Steve was quick to turn on the cold water, not having to drain anything to make room with Bucky's lowered comfort level. "Come here," He said, waving Bucky over. He complied, though quickly put a stop to it when Steve tried to guide his head under the water.

"Buck, c'mon, it's not that bad. You're dripping sweat and there's still dye on your head. You need to rinse it." When Bucky again denied it, Steve began to put two and two together. 

"I don't want to," Bucky said finally, licking his lips with nerves. "I've had enough of it, Steve. They did it to me so much, I--" He sighed, looking away. But Steve wasn't giving up. He grabbed Bucky's hand, which rested on the edge of the tub, squeezing gently. 

"It's okay. Hey, I didn't know. I should've. But you're going to get sick, let me help you," Steve pleaded softly, and it didn't take much for Bucky to give in. Facing the faucet, he cupped his hand, filling it with all the water he could before splashing his face. He let out a soft gasp but did it again, having to wipe his eyes when black threatened to blur his vision. He let Steve turn him around, gasping and shivering as his friend poured the cold water on his back carefully. 

"You remember the time I tried to sweat out a fever and got more sick?" Steve said after a moment, and Bucky could hear the smile in his voice. "You had to make me turn on the cold water, because I was only using hot. I was miserable." 

Bucky joined him in laughing softly at the thought, letting Steve grab his hand, the other's free hand going to support Bucky's neck as he leaned him back. 

"You made me pour cold water all over myself, told me I was being stupid." He stopped moving when he saw the discomfort in Bucky's face, giving him a moment. 

"I yelled at you for it," He continued, letting out his second laugh of the moment. He was trying to remember the day more vividly, distracted again as Steve turned the water almost fully off, half the pressure pouring out of the faucet. "Said you were wasting water, that I'd have to work extra to pay for it. But you didn't get mad." 

He initially jumped as he felt water hit his head, though let Steve hold him there. He was quickly distracted again as Steve began to talk. 

"I didn't see why I would. Same thing about being sad. You  _did_ have to work overtime to pay the bills that month. But you were so worried about me, you didn't just take me out and put me in front of a window. You used more water to cool me off, then got me a glass of cold water, made sure I was cool. You were never so mad you meant to make me upset." 

Bucky was faintly aware as Steve grabbed his hand again, the only way he knew Steve had ever let go. He was being guided back up to sitting, smiling faintly at the memories.

"Because you were just trying to get over being sick and save money on medicine. I knew it, I was just so initially upset you would try that." He sighed softly, lip between his teeth. "I need to rinse my hair. I didn't get it all, and--"

"It's already done." Steve grabbed a towel as Bucky dealt with his confusion, pulling his friend from the water and wrapping him in the soft fabric. "I got you talking about it, got  _us_ talking about it. I rinsed it all in that time," He continued to explain, getting another towel to wrap around Bucky's head. He knew it wasn't rinsed as well as it could be, the stark white towel would be stained, but he could pay T'challa back if he wanted. 

"I don't-- I don't get it. That's one of the things that reminds me of--"

"Distractions work, Bucky. C'mon, let's go get you dressed," Steve said, purposefully avoiding conversation about the torture. Bucky didn't need to go through that. He led Bucky to what could be considered as his bedroom, going through the clothes both  provided by T'challa and scavenged from his apartment in Bucharest after things settled enough. 

The next time Bucky dyed his hair, he did it with the help of a certain super soldier who could use the flexible shower head to avoid getting the water in his face. 

And after that, Bucky didn't need help. He could stand the shower again, could stand carefully rinsing it all, but he didn't. He always had Steve help. In the times of panic, Steve was his anchor. And Bucky couldn't think of anything better.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! I know this is probably not SUPER good grammar-wise, but I had the idea and got excited to get it down. Hope you enjoyed! you can find me on tumblr at winterhand.tumblr.com !


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